Stick To Me
by MajinSakuko
Summary: Complete! Draco has a little problem in the, uh, bathroom. How will he solve his predicament? And how does Hermione fit in the picture? 2: Draco finally realizes what he's put into his hair. Who's going to rescue his precious locks if not Harry?
1. Stick to Me

Title: Stick To Me

Author: MajinSakuko

E-Mail: MajinSakukoyahoo.de

Beta-Reader: Persephone Lupin

Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing/Main-Chara: DM

Rating: PG

Genre/s: Parody, Humour

Warning/s: OOC

Summary: Draco has a little problem in the, uh, bathroom. How will he solve his predicament? And how does Hermione fit in the picture?

-

Draco Malfoy yawned widely, then stopped midway, drool dripping from the side of his mouth. Carefully, he cracked open one eye and surveyed his surroundings. The Slytherin boys' dormitory was empty except for him on this Sunday morning. The growling of his tummy let Draco reconsider: It was empty on this Sunday afternoon.

"Damn those bloody traitors," the blond growled rather unimpressively, mostly due to his still sleep-sticky eyes and his crinkled left cheek where he'd rested on his pillow. Even if it was considerate of his roommates to let him have his beauty sleep – but whom were they kidding? He couldn't look any better than he did already – they were willing to let poor Draco starve. The blonde Slytherin considered the possibility of this being part of an elaborate scheme to get rid of him, before he firmed his resolve to be even more watchful of his pretty backside than before.

Fishing a chocolate bar out of his breast pocket, he quickly devoured it to keep his tummy from grumbling any more.

Draco squinted against the light that kept pouring through the magical windows and stumbled into the general direction of the bathroom. Two metres short of his destination, Draco's attention waned. He tilted his head back again, screwed his eyes shut and yawned. Nothing in his fifteen-year-long life could have prepared him for the following, as he trudged on, oblivious to the upcoming horrors, his bare feet tapping over the rug-covered stone floor, his eyes foolishly closed.

"Eep!" Draco shrieked as his toe got caught up in a piece of clothing that lay hazardously in the middle of the dorm room. The Slytherin tried to step over his unmoving attacker. Unfortunately, there was another piece of clothing on the floor. Faster than Draco could wrap his still sleep-befuddled mind around it, he found himself stumbling, his arms thrashing wildly in the vain attempt to keep his balance. In years to come, Draco would see the haunting memory of the stone floor rushing up to meet him. Landing with a hard smack, his feet tangled in what he was loath to believe were Crabbe's or Goyle's undergarments, Draco mewled piteously.

"It is just my luck," the boy whined with a wince as he touched his sore nose, "that I'm alone and nowhere a hero in sight when a helpless maiden- uh, a man is in dire need of one. Killing Voldie and rescuing the entire world was good and all, but where is Saint Potter when there's really an emergency like preventing my pretty face from bruising ...?" Draco sniffled, kicking the restricting clothes from his feet without looking. After successfully thwarting the second attempt at his life in less than five minutes, the Slytherin felt more awake and ready to face the world. Well, after a much-needed visit to the bathroom, that was.

Avoiding any further incidents, Draco quickly made his way into the bath, shutting the door firmly behind him. Thoughtfully averting his gaze from the full length mirror in front of him – even someone as gorgeous as the Malfoy Heir couldn't look impeccable first thing in the morning -, Draco quickly shed himself of his snugly cotton pyjamas and hopped into the shower.

With the first drop of water hitting his head, the blond's hair acquired a life of its own, springing in every direction as the heavy charms that were placed upon it lost their effect. It was hideous to look at, Draco winced as he touched his extremely unruly hair, wishing that it would just hurry up and grow already. As it was, his hair was still too light to stay straight. Without his hair gel and the charms he used at night – the same ones his father had used in his childhood – Potter's hair would appear silky and divine compared to his mop of stringy spikes. Draco supposed he looked like a shining star, his hair haloing around him like sunrays; he had never dared to look in the mirror, dreading the mortification of that horrendous event. He doubted he'd ever come over the shock. There were rumours about his great great great grandfather Obnoxious Malfoy who had risked a glance in the mirror with his natural hair. Well, suffice it to say he didn't live to tell the tale; therefore it was only a rumour. However, Draco wasn't inclined on finding out whether it was true or not.

After washing his hair with the special Weighing Down Shampoo, Draco's locks were now dripping wet and his head resembled a very bright coconut palm, only without the coconuts.

Quickly, Draco dried off, determined to keep his mind off the Malfoy Hair Curse as much as possible. (It was rumoured that some ancient Malfoy tried to charm his hair into resembling Zeus'. Needless to say, the God wasn't too pleased with the earthling's daring, thus cursing his whole bloodline with the hideous mane.) The Slytherin, wrapped tightly in a fluffy towel, kept his eyes sealed shut as he moved to the small cabinet by the sink.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed the xxx-large tube of hair gel. The sigh, however, quickly turned into a panicked gasp, as the blond couldn't squeeze any gel out of the tube. He very carefully cracked open one eye and froze in utter horror: The tube was empty. Empty. The single word echoed in Draco's head like a mocking mantra.

"Merlin," he whimpered. "Whatever am I going to do?" As it was Sunday, Draco still had a plenty of time before classes would start again. But even on a Sunday, he couldn't hide the entire day. He needed to get supplies, quickly. Whoever had used the last dollop of his hair gel was going to pay. Dearly.

Now wasn't the time to plan revenge, though, now Draco needed to figure out how the heck he was supposed to get some gel before he contacted his mother for more ...

Draco pulled the hood deeper into his face, wincing as he caught sight of the greenish-blue scales on the back of his hand, and hurried down into the common room. Breaking into one dormitory that wasn't his own proved to be more dangerous than previously anticipated. Draco growled low in his throat at the memory of all the jinxes and hexes that had hit him during the last hour. Being preoccupied with his hair dilemma, Draco hadn't really been in a state of mind to successfully defend himself. It was a shame. What would his father say?

"Poor baby!"

Draco jumped, pressing a trembling hand to his racing heart, while the other hand still held the hood securely over his head. He hadn't even realised he'd arrived in the common room.

There weren't many students down there as it appeared. A couple of first and second years were doing homework in front of the fire ("Aww, little ones. Over time, they'll learn to bribe Ravenclaws to do it for them ..."), a few students from third or fourth year were playing some card game ("Aww, dumb ones. Hopefully Sev will catch them playing 'Exploding Snape'.") and on one of the couches, Pansy was openly fawning over Blaise, who fluttered his eyelashes tiredly at her ("Eww, gross ones. If I had eaten more, I'd consider throwing up ...").

"Yes, it was terrible," Blaise breathed, coughing delicately. "The monster was huge. I was lucky that I escaped with my life ..." He trailed off, closing his eyes. Pansy cooed over him immediately.

Draco sneered in disgust at the attention-seeking prat and his wannabe fiancée as he crossed the common room quickly. Nobody paid him any attention. Obviously it wasn't that uncommon that a disguised, hooded figure visited the Slytherin territory.

As Draco entered the hallways in the dungeons, he took a moment to breathe deeply. He had not the foggiest clue how to proceed. Should he ask his godfather for help? No, his father had strictly forbidden letting anyone in on the Family Hair Curse, even pseudo family members like Snape. And because Draco was sure he couldn't nick any potential hair gel from the Potions master without being noticed, the boy tried to think of other possibilities. The teachers, Filch, and Dumbledore were out of the question, and Pomfrey watched over her medical potions and gels like a hawk, which left ... the other Houses. Hufflepuffs were too natural to use gel or make-up and Ravenclaws were too clever to not somehow find out about Draco's curse. That being settled, the blond knew his choices were narrowed down quite drastically, considering that his own House had let him down already.

Steeling his fluttery nerves, Draco tried to blend in with the shadows in the hallways as he neared Gryffindor Tower for what he hoped was the first and last time in his life. He hadn't really realised his mistake until he found himself in the same corridor for the fifth time already.

"Darn," he cursed softly. "How am I supposed to know where Gryffindor Tower is when I was never there ..." That was a justified question.

"Looking for something in particular, kiddo?" a voice asked suddenly, causing Draco to repeat his performance from the common room. "Gryffindor Tower, by any chance?"

Forcing his heart to calm down, Draco looked for the source of the voice. The corridor was dark but the blond could make out a single painting lining the otherwise bare wall.

"Lumos," whispered Draco, pointing his wand at the painting. The glowing tip illuminated the picture of a landscape with ample rocks splattered around. But there was no person visible.

"Hey!" the voice croaked again. "Switch it off! The light blinds me! There's no sun in here and my eyes are sensitive!"

Draco muttered a disgruntled "Nox" and put his wand back.

"Ahh, that's better. Now, why don't you-"

"Do you or do you not know where Gryffindor Tower is?" Draco interrupted crossly. He didn't have the time to listen to the blabbering of one painting or another when his hair's welfare was in serious danger.

"Yes, I do."

There was a pause.

Draco waited for the painting to continue.

The painting waited for no obvious reason.

Finally, Draco snapped, "So? Where is it?" He didn't like being played for a fool, especially in times of hairy needs.

A quiet rustle could be heard. "It's down there."

Draco closed his eyes for a second. "Where?" he repeated forcefully.

There was another rustle. "Well, there! This way and then-"

Draco cut the painting off, "I don't see in which direction you're pointing, you dolt!"

"Oh," came the quiet voice. "Why didn't you say so? Humph. You turn to the left, no, the other left! Yes, then you follow the hallway straight till the second corridor to the right, then left and again left. You can't miss it."

"Straight, right, left, left, okay," Draco repeated and followed the instructions. On what was hopefully his way to Gryffindor Tower, the blond contemplated what he'd do once he reached his destination. He would most likely need to cast an Invisibility Charm on himself to sneak into the lion's den. Now, where was the likeliest place to get some strong hair gel?

As Draco trudged on noiselessly, an epiphany hit him with the force of Hagrid. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as his mind recalled a distinct memory.

He had been in the library, leafing through some dark, uh, daft book for homework as Saint Potter and his two sidekicks had appeared. Not wanting to be seen, Draco had hidden behind his book. Curiosity, though, had gotten the better of him swiftly. What did the Golden Trio do in the library but researching something for their newest breaking of school rules?

Suppressing his gleeful cackling to a minimum, Draco had stayed still and observed his nemesis.

After ten minutes it had become clear that the know-it-all had only forced them to a NEWTs study session.

Vaguely disappointed, Draco wanted to surreptitiously leave the library, as the Weasel, obviously bored to tears, took some object from the desk to play with. Granger smacked the redhead and took her property back, putting the shiny object into her rucksack.

At that time, Draco hadn't drawn the right conclusions. Now, though, he was sure that he'd figured it out.

Oh, he could not have been more wrong.

Monday morning found an overly smug Draco Malfoy in Potions. He'd already sent his mother a request for more of his hair gel and he supposed that it would arrive in two days at the latest. For the time being, that was all right with him as he still had lots of the spare substance he'd stolen, uh, unknowingly borrowed from the bushy-haired know-it-all.

Happily stirring his cauldron, Draco couldn't remember a time when his hair had been more manageable. The blond smirked into his fist. His housemates would not know what hit them. He cackled silently. No one messed with Draco Malfoy's hair and got away unscathed.

"Ron!" Draco heard Granger hiss angrily from behind him. "You were in my rucksack again!"

The Slytherin snickered. Oh, trouble in paradise.

"I did no such thing!" the Weasel answered incredulously.

"Oh? And how come that something's missing? Something you said yourself your father was very interested in!"

"Just because dad collects everything Muggle, doesn't mean I steal your super thingy!"

"It's super glue, Ron, not super thingy!"

Draco snickered again. 'If she only knew,' he thought with a smirk.

Yes, if he only knew.

-End-

A/N: Draco doesn't know what glue is because I couldn't imagine a wizard using that stuff. And he isn't suspicious due to the stickiness for that's what he needs for his hair.

* * *


	2. Unstick My Hair

Title: Unstick My Hair (- say you'll comb me again)  
Sequel to Stick to Me  
Author: MajinSakuko  
E-Mail: MajinSakukoyahoo.de  
Beta-Reader: hailiebu, Snuffy  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
Pairing/Main-Chara: HP/DM  
Rating: PG  
Genre/s: Parody, Romance (Slash)  
Warning/s: Silliness, OOC  
Summary: Draco finally realizes what he's put into his hair. Who's going to rescue his precious locks if not Harry?  
A/N: If I had Toni Braxton's lyrics at hand, I'd re-write it to fit the fic

* * *

Draco Malfoy was having a major crisis. His self-confidence had gradually diminished over the day and now he wasn't sure how he could have been so stupid in the first place, really, to nick some unknown substance and put it into his hair without proper analysis first. His father had taught him better, or so he liked to think.

Now he was bawling his pretty eyes out, knuckling the tears away before the salty substance could harm his baby-soft skin in any way. He was helpless. He hadn't the foggiest clue what he should do now.

At first, everything had seemed so smooth. He'd eavesdropped on Granger and Weasel's conversation, cackling silently that they didn't figure out that he had taken Granger's superglue thingy. He had been crowing inwardly. He was so smart! He was so clever! No one even suspected him!

Then, funny things started to happen. Small, little, tiny things that shouldn't have worried him, but managed to catch his attention anyway.

The wind had been blowing hurricane-like when they'd had to cross the grounds on their way to their Herbology lessons.

The style held.

Sprout had them work under some very hot lamps that were apparently essential for the growth of fluxweed.

The style held.

On their way back to the castle it had been bucketing down, drenching Draco to the bones.

The style held.

There wasn't a hair gel – magical or Muggle – that could make hair that manageable - Draco knew that much now. 'Pity I hadn't known beforehand, though,' he reflected, sniffling loudly.

After a few more minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Draco decided to get a grip on himself. He was a Malfoy, after all. For centuries they'd lived down the Family Hair Curse. What could a bit more curse in his hair do to him?

"Nothing," Draco tried to say resolutely, blinking the tears from his pale lashes. His voice still sounded croaky, his cheeks were reddened and his eyes would look puffy come next morning – he'd need some more of his lid gel, he decided absently.

"Gah, it's not that bad!" said the gruff, distinctly female voice of the mirror in the prefect bathroom. "No need crying over that pointy nose, chap. I've seen far worse, I tell you."

"What's wrong with my nose?" Draco asked, looking highly affronted. "I'll have you know that my nose is perfect in every way!"

"Uh, nothing's wrong with your nose," the mirror said slowly, sounding anything but earnest. "I'd be more concerned about those Dumbo ears, too, if I were you."

"What?" Draco's hands covered his ears out of reflex. Realizing he couldn't hear that way, he jerked his arms back down, scowling fiercely for all of two seconds – more would have meant too big a risk of getting premature wrinkles. "What's Dumbledore got to do with my ears?"

"Uh," said the mirror, very, very slowly. "You're a natural blond, aren't you?"

Draco, finally realising that he was being insulted, did the first thing that came to mind: He started bawling again. The world was just so not fair! Oh yeah, always against the little ones. The blonde Slytherin, in all his 1.65 metre glory, could tell you about it.

Draco's hair was hard like Muggle concrete (he had done a bit of research; Muggle substances were dangerous, after all, and he wanted to be prepared). Draco collapsed onto his knees; he was a pitiful mess. At least, the mirror left him in peace now. Nothing could be more embarrassing. Draco, in his not very foreseeing nature because he didn't take Divination, was sure of it.

Then the door to the bathroom creaked open, and Draco's self-assurance was drowned in the boy's sudden wish to bang his head against the next wall. This action wouldn't be recommendable for several reasons, though: Draco was afraid of solid surfaces rushing too fast in his direction - courtesy of the floor incident from the morning before. Draco got a headache very easily, and he was sure that a bump on his forehead wouldn't go too well with his facial complexion. And lastly, Draco wasn't sure if his hair wasn't hard enough to break the wall, and thus burying him under piles of shrapnel. Draco could do without that, thank you very much, indeed.

'No,' thought Draco, drawing in on himself as far as possible. He wouldn't physically hurt himself. And it couldn't be all that bad, anyway. This was the Hufflepuffs' bathroom, after all, and Draco was convinced that he could force them to keep quiet about this incident.

Keep quiet or face his never-ending, dooming wrath.

Then the person entered the bathroom, and Draco's mind stopped working altogether. He should have known. He should have bloody known the instant the thought crossed his mind that it couldn't possibly get any worse! It was a conspiracy; it just had to be. There was no other way to explain the presence of Harry Sodding Potter in the Hufflepuff prefect bath just when Draco Poor-Baby Malfoy was weeping his eyes out because he'd ruined his precious hair!

Life was not fair - that was a fact of life itself - but this situation was beyond mere unfairness. It was degrading, it was humiliating – and all Draco really wanted to do was bury himself in his cosy bed, hold Mr. Snuffy close to his heart and shut his eyes against this waking nightmare.

Nobody granted his wish, though.

Draco couldn't say he was surprised. Harry – Potter – surprised him far more upon seeing him. The dark-haired boy stopped dead in his tracks, looking quite funny with a sponge and rubber ducky in one hand and shampoo in the other.

"D-Draco?"

Said Draco could only gawp stupidly – not that he didn't try to do so dignifiedly, mind. However, there were only so many facial expressions one could wear without looking, well, stupid at least once in a while.

Why did Harry call him by his first name? They weren't that close, after all, he and Harry. Draco frowned. There it was again; Harry. Why did he call his green-eyed nemesis by his given name in his head? Obviously, something wasn't right in that department.

"You're bathing with a rubber ducky?" Draco asked blankly, because it was the first thing that came to mind, even if it was stupid. Well, if he had asked whether Harry bathed in the nude, that would have been even stupider. But why would Draco ask something like that, anyway? "Aren't you a bit too old for that?" Draco ignored the small voice in his head that reminded him that he still slept with a stuffed doggy. Talk about being too old for something, really.

Harry blushed – prettily? – and jerkily put his arms behind his back. "What are you doing here?" he asked, with a touch of suspicion to his voice, clearly avoiding Draco's question. "This is the Hufflepuff bathroom."

"It is?" said Draco, with great air of surprise. "My, I didn't know! Thanks for letting me in on this secret, though," he added sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes and took a step closer. Draco immediately felt trapped. So far, the other boy hadn't noticed his state – and Draco could live without the humiliation, mind you. Diversion, he needed a diversion tactic, he thought frantically. Draco's brain worked over-time, searching for the best way to get rid off Harry.

"This is a prefect bath, though," Draco said quickly, putting as much of his sneer into it as possible. "Maybe you remember that I am, indeed, a prefect, whereas you are not. So, you've less authorization to be in here than I. You can leave now. Shoo, shoo!"

"Don't you 'shoo, shoo' me!" snapped Harry irritably. "The way I see it, I've got the same rights to be here as you. So you can shoo, for all I care!" He crossed his arms over his chest, the rubber ducky squeaking as if in protest. The colour rose back into Harry's cheeks, spreading from his nose until it covered even the tips of his ears.

'Just too cute,' Draco thought before he could stop himself.

"I'm not leaving," the blond said petulantly. He didn't have anywhere else to go. And before he hadn't solved his hair dilemma, he didn't even want to imagine the dreadful results in going out into the open. It was just too cruel a picture.

"I'm not either," Harry said back, just as childishly.

"I was here first!"

"And I was second!"

"See? That's right. You'll have to leave."

"No! You were first, so you have to leave first!"

Draco frowned. He couldn't overlook the logic in that statement. He didn't have to admit it, though. "No," he said obstinately, because he didn't have any more arguments.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" Harry asked abruptly, brows forking together. If Draco hadn't known better, he'd have thought that the dark-haired boy was thinking – and rather determinedly at that. "This is a bath. Why aren't you bathing, then? Why are you sitting here on the ground, still wrapped in your beige bathrobe, and not washing up?"

"My robe is ochre!" replied Draco tetchily. He couldn't believe the nerve of Harry! Interrupting his bawling session and then getting cheeky with him to boot! It was unheard of! Well, okay, maybe it was heard of that Harry interrupted him and got too cheeky once in a while, but Draco didn't have to like it! "And it'll take a bit more to see me naked!"

"What? I didn't-" Harry spluttered, his face glowing bright red by now. "I don't want to see you naked!" he denied hotly, but Draco couldn't help thinking that it sounded a bit unconvincingly. How very interesting. Not that it should be of any importance now, but Draco's Inner Slytherin couldn't be switched off that easily.

"Well, if that's the case, I recommend you to leave as long as I'm still decent," Draco said, trembling hands reaching for the fastening of his large bathrobe. 'Oh Merlin, oh Merlin,' he kept chanting silently. 'How have I manoeuvred myself into this situation!' He willed Harry to finally leave the bathroom for he hadn't a clue how he should continue.

Harry had other things in mind, though. Or maybe his mind had gone on holidays at some point within the last seconds. All Harry seemed capable of was staring wide-eyed at Draco, the rubber ducky squeaking every time his hands contracted convulsively. He looked a bit like he lost it, Draco thought uneasily. Not that he himself was any better. His fingers held tightly onto the sides of his bathrobe, not having moved in minutes. Draco didn't know what to think of this.

Suddenly, Harry threw down his bathing things and cried, "Okay! I confess! I do want to see you naked!"

Draco was totally thrown off-guard – and off-balance - by this confession. He gasped and tipped over backwards. Luckily, the floor didn't split as he connected with it. 'The same can't be said for my head, though,' Draco thought dizzily, colours swirling before his eyes. 'Oh my God!' he thought then. 'Harry Potter wants to see me naked!' He wasn't sure whether to blush or blanch.

"Draco!" cried Harry and rushed to the fallen boy. He skidded to a halt next to him, barely avoiding crashing down himself. He kneed down next to Draco and hesitantly lifted his head to search for possible injuries. "Are you all- What's that?" Harry's voice suddenly changed from concerned to over-alarmed as he touched Draco's hair. "What have you done to your hair?"

"Nothing!" said Draco frantically, trying to get Harry's pawing hands off him.

"Is it always that hard, then?"

The question was innocent enough. Draco's hair looked like always, after all, it was only the rock-hard consistence that had changed. Harry's face hovered over Draco, looking for all the world like he cared for Draco's well-being, like he cared for Draco. The green eyes weren't glinting in fury, nor was his face drawn tight in anger. Harry's expression was soft and coaxing as he asked once more what Draco had done and if he could help him.

That finally proved to be more than Draco could take. The tension about his whole crappy day broke, and the boy started bawling – again - he was having a highly emotional day. He clung to Harry like a lifeline, pressing his face into Harry's chest and crying for all he was worth. Harry tentatively put his arms around Draco's quivering shoulders.

"It's okay," he tried to soothe Draco. "It's all right, Draco. I'll help you, I promise."

"No one can help me," Draco cried dramatically, his chest heaving with each laboured breath. "It's over and even you can't change anything about it..."

* * *

Harry managed to change Draco's mind. After countless assurances and soothing words, Draco finally relented to let Harry help him. Harry was, after all, the epitome of the selfless saviour. In comparison, this small hair problem shouldn't pose as a too big obstacle, then.

"What are we going to do?" Draco asked, looking very small in his oversized, though once again tightly closed, bathrobe. "I already tried every charm I know of and nothing worked..." He tried to keep the desperate edge out of his voice, though it wasn't working very well.

"Well, I've got a few ideas, love," said Harry, causing Draco to blush at the pet name. When had they become so cosy? Draco couldn't say, but he also couldn't say that he cared much. Actually – he blushed some more – he kind of liked it.

And Harry had indeed a few ideas. He tried everything he could think of: Repeatedly washing Draco's hair, accio'ing several solvents and pouring them over Draco's head, brushing Draco's hair with a bristly comb – only resulting with reddened scalp on Draco's part and shrivelled hands on Harry's. It was hopeless; there was no way they'd get the superglue out of Draco's hair.

"Draco?" asked Harry, then. "Do you still have the tube? I'd like to take a look and see if they say how to get rid of it."

Draco nodded quickly. "Sure," he said, fishing the glue tube out of his pocket. There were many confusing words he didn't recognise – definitely Muggle-origin – written all over it, and he hoped Harry might figure them out. Draco handed the tube over to Harry and waited with bated breath.

Harry squinted at the small yellow tube, making various noises, and Draco's unease began to rise again. Harry didn't look very sure of himself, now. Actually, the frown on his forehead got more prominent with every passing second and the noises his throat produced became more and more foreboding.

"What does it say?" Draco asked, wringing his hands and trying to get a closer look at the tube, even though he didn't understand a word on it. "Any helpful tips how to get it off?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry said gently, letting his arms fall to his sides. His gaze caught Draco's and his eyes were apologetic. "It's solvent-less. We won't be able to get the stuff out of your hair."

"W-what?" Draco was feeling a bit light-headed. "No. That can't be... It's Muggle. I have to get it out." His eyes grew round and he looked pretty confused. "You said you'd help me. You promised."

"I know. And I'm not going to break that promise. There's one more thing we can do..."

* * *

Draco's lower lip was quivering. Try as he might, he couldn't stop it. Grey, teary eyes stared right back at him as Draco looked at himself in the mirror in the Hufflepuff prefect bathroom. His bathrobe was still oversized but securely tied around his small frame.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about your nose anymore, chap," the mirror said, almost apologetic. It was a false sense of friendliness, though. "No one's going to notice it now with that hair! Hahaha!"

If Draco would have been in the right state of mind, he would have wondered why Hufflepuff, of all the houses, had to have such a nasty mirror in their prefect bathroom. Now wasn't the time, though. He was having far bigger problems. Or shorter ones, if you looked at it from his angle.

Draco's face contorted into a wretched visage. "Look at my hair!" he cried, running his fingers across his scalp. His hair was so short, army-style would have been considered long in comparison. "Just look at my hair, Harry!" And, again, he started his newly acquired hobby: bawling.

"Don't," said Harry gently, embracing the miserable blond from behind. "That was the only way; I told you, love. I'm very sorry."

"Can't buy me a wig from your sorry," Draco sobbed.

"Don't be silly," chided Harry. "You don't need a wig. This style isn't all bad. Just take a look, love. Now you won't have to use any gel at all."

Draco sniffled, shooting an unhappy glance at the mirror. Harry was right, he thought despondently, he didn't need hair gel anymore. But at what cost? He didn't have any hair left! He just should have barricaded himself into the dorm bathroom when he realized that someone had used the last of his hair gel. All of this wouldn't have happened...

"You know, I kind of like it," Harry said softly, nuzzling his face into the side of Draco's neck. He pressed a kiss to Draco's jaw, tightening his embrace. "The gel made you look all pointy. This style makes your features softer..."

"Really?" asked Draco in a small voice. "You like it?" Not that Harry's opinion was of any importance in style questions – a single look at his own hair brought one to this conclusion – but it was still nice that Harry wanted to make Draco feel better. And he sounded so earnest about it.

"Sure," Harry said, smiling at Draco through the mirror's reflection. "Gryffindor's honour."

And Gryffindors didn't lie. They didn't know the difference between beige and ochre, but they didn't lie.

End-


End file.
